


End in Blood

by risrisris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risrisris/pseuds/risrisris
Summary: A coda to 10.03 Soul Survivor.This is a work of fan fiction. I do not own these characters and make no profit from this work.





	End in Blood

“Do it.”

Sam freezes, staring into Dean’s defiant, hooded eyes as the teeth of the demon knife’s blade bite into the flesh of his throat. When Sam does nothing for long seconds Dean’s grin widens, his tongue playing across his teeth. He slowly advances on Sam, leaning into the knife blade, and Sam retreats by reflex, startled when his back hits the cool tile wall.

Dean reaches up then and gets Sam by the left wrist and twists, just enough to get him to drop the knife. Dean’s grip on his other shoulder, the busted one, wrings a little involuntary grunt from Sam, followed by Dean’s sly “Sorry, Sammy,” as he pins his good wrist to the wall.

“Not how you saw the afternoon playing out, was it, Sunshine?” Their faces aren’t even an inch apart. Sam can almost taste the sulfur on his breath.

“Dean.”

“Shhh! Don’t spoil the moment.” Dean’s face—it _is_ Dean’s face, Sam reminds himself—wears a grin that shows too many teeth. He presses impossibly closer.

“Dean, you don’t have to do this.” Sam trails off as Dean’s hand leaves his injured shoulder, now nearly numb, and creeps along his collarbone to rest at his throat.

“Do what, Sammy?” Dean strokes his thumb down the column of Sam’s throat, digging his fingers into the muscles of his shoulder. Sam's skin prickles as pinpoints of sweat break the surface. He can hear his heartbeat. Wondering if he’s buying time (where the hell is Cass, anyway?) or just prolonging the inevitable, he gets out one soft word: “Dean—”

Dean’s eyes go hard, his thumb digging into the base of Sam’s throat, stopping his voice and, briefly, his air. His eyes widen, his mouth gasping open on his brothers name.

Before Sam can react to defend himself—should he scramble for the knife? strike at Dean’s eyes? under his chin? try to sweep his legs?—Dean is in his face, blocking out the light, and Sam realizes he is going lightheaded and has slid a few inches down the wall.

And then the pressure on his throat releases, and Dean bridges the last fraction of space between them.

... or tries. Turns out, Sam has a little fight left. Maybe Dean should have kept squeezing. Sam hangs limply against the wall for a moment, feigning weakness, then lunges upward into Dean’s nose and mouth with all his force, leading with the hardest part of his forehead.

And Dean used to make fun of his soccer trophies.

Sam hears the moment when he breaks Dean’s nose. Dean’s head snaps up and he snarls through bloodstained teeth, staggering a few steps back and losing his grip on Sam. Beyond the gusher that is Dean’s lower face, however, Sam doesn’t think he can have done much damage, so he’ll have to act fast. He scans the floor and spots the demon knife a few feet off to his left where it must have been kicked in their little… tussle, whatever the hell that just was. He dives for it and is overtaken by an angry wall of Dean.

The knife slips Sam’s grasp and goes skittering down the hall. “No!” he can’t help crying out.

Dean straddles him where he lies, face down, and manhandles him roughly onto his back, pinning him at the shoulders, his knees heavy across the joints of both hips. Sam’s sling has come loose on his injured shoulder, the inflammation and pain running havoc, and Dean is much rougher this time, not interested in playing games.

The fight leaves Sam’s body like air from a balloon. He is afraid to speak, even though he wants to appeal one last time to Dean—to the real Dean, his Dean. They had almost made it. _Well, Dad,_ Sam thinks perversely, _you always did say Dean might have to kill me._ Strange that Dean would end up the one with the black eyes.

As if reading his thoughts Dean shakes him a little, drawing his attention back to his face. “Seems like I have the advantage again, Sammy.”

Sam licks his lips. “What are you going to do to me?”

Dean watches Sam for a full minute. Sam tries for eye contact but then decides he doesn’t really want to be looking when the green fades, so he lets his eyes close. What feels like a tear rolls down one side of his face. Maybe sweat? Huh.

Dean lets out a laughing breath above him. “What am I going to do, Sammy?” Dean says finally.

Sam opens his eyes. Dean’s are still green. There is a strange smile on his face. The blood under his nose has begun to dry. Dean shifts his body, making his weight known at every place they touch. Sam groans as Dean again leans into his injured shoulder, levering his body down slowly until their noses are nearly touching and Sam can feel his breath.

“Baby brother, I’m gonna take you apart, piece by piece.”

Sam swallows, takes a shallow breath, and then Dean is closing the last inch of space between them, open mouth to open mouth, the touch of Dean’s lips a shock at first but soft, and Sam’s eyes fall closed and his mouth eases open to meet the gentle swipe of Dean’s tongue.

And that is when he remembers the blood.


End file.
